


keep on holding me like a grudge

by QLaLa



Category: The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Dirty Talk, First Time, Frottage, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 10:45:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12297588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QLaLa/pseuds/QLaLa
Summary: What Barry calls "getting left in a panic room with Leonard Snart for two hours," Cisco calls "being a good wingman."





	keep on holding me like a grudge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/gifts).



> For the prompt "Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…”
> 
> Thanks, as always, to my amazing beta Elizabeth.

It had been an hour. Scratch that—it had _probably_ been an hour. They had no way of knowing for sure; Barry didn’t keep his phone in his suit, and Leonard had run down the battery on his shitty burner trying to get a signal.

Barry paced the length of the room again with quick, agitated steps, then stopped at the door. He had long since abandoned his gloves, tossed somewhere in his frustration in the first five minutes after the door had slammed shut behind them. He pressed his palm to the smooth metal of the door, and tried to concentrate. If he could just pick out the right frequency this time, then maybe...

As soon as he reached for the speed force, the door sent a violent shock down his arm. He yanked his arm away and reeled backwards, cursing viciously under his breath.

“You do know what they say about the definition of insanity?”

Barry left off rubbing the sting out of his palm to glare at Leonard, sitting cross-legged against the opposite wall of the panic room.

“I’m trying to get us out of here,” Barry said.

The _“unlike some people”_ went unspoken, but Len still tossed him a scornful look before he went back to reassembling the cold gun. He’d taken it apart and put it back together again eleven times since they’d arrived, and Barry estimated he could put up with about three more cycles before he stole the thing and ground it to pieces.

Which would, of course, put them out their only weapon. Barry raked his hand through his hair and forced himself to take a deep breath. Then, when Len slid the cartridge back in with a particularly loud click, he let it out in a rush, snapping, “Can you leave that alone?”

“Gives me something to do,” Len said, without looking up.  “Idle hands, and all.”

“You could try even _looking_ at this locking mechanism,” Barry said.

“Don’t have my tools,” Len said. He clicked the grip panels together, and Barry’s eye twitched at the sound. “Could try it without them, but I think you’ve electrocuted yourself enough for the both of us.”

Barry sneered, and turned his back on him to regard the door again. The room was small, barely twelve feet square. But if he could figure out how to run a tight enough circle to build up momentum without ripping the panelling off the walls—

The grating of metal against metal interrupted his thoughts, and Barry whirled on Len with an irate snap of yellow lightning. “Can you—” He heard the sharpness in his tone and broke off, grinding his teeth together as he reached for the last shreds of his patience. “Just, lay off the cold gun. Please.”

Len looked at him for a long moment, expression carefully blank. “Looks like we’re gonna be trapped here for a while,” he said. Then, with a slow smirk, he added, “No use losing your cool.”

Barry stared at him in disbelief. Forget destroying the gun; he was going to murder Len if they had to stay in here together much longer.

Luckily for Len, he either sensed that he'd reached the end of Barry’s patience, or simply grew bored of his ritual. When the last piece of the cold gun was back in its place, he set it to the side.

He unfolded his legs in one graceful motion and stretched them out in front of him. The toes of his boots dipped forward for a moment as he stretched, pulling Barry’s gaze to the long line of his legs, which he usually spent an inordinate amount of time trying to ignore. Then Len relaxed, propped one of his ankles over the other, and looked him.

Not just a glance; it was as if he had shifted the full weight of his attention from rebuilding the cold gun to just… studying him. Barry tried not to let the uneasiness creep up on him, but it was a lost cause. Len was usually all fleeting looks and sideways glances, an arresting flash of blue that lingered just long enough to disarm, then was gone again. Trying to have a conversation with him was a nightmare, even when he was feeling civil, because of his refusal to grant anything more than the most cursory instances of eye contact.

“What'll it be, Barry?” Len asked. “Twenty questions? I Spy?” His gaze flicked to the sparsely populated shelves of dry goods, then the smooth metallic walls. “Might not be much of a challenge.”

“My team will be here any minute,” Barry said. “Cisco should’ve realized something is wrong by now.”

Len made a doubtful noise in the back of his throat. “So you've said.”

Barry’s foot came down on something as he passed the door again. He glanced down; it was one of his discarded gloves. With a sigh, he stooped to pick it up. A quick sweep of the room turned up the other, a few feet to Len’s right. Barry supposed he should be grateful that Len hadn't noticed it, or he probably would've started stripping that down to its base components, too.

When he crossed the small space to collect it, Len glanced at him sideways. “You don't stop pacing, I'm gonna give the cold gun something to do,” he said.

“I'm not—” Barry left off explaining, picked up the glove, and gestured with it in explanation. Of course, he had been pacing, and now that he'd been called on it, he was at a loss for what else to do. So he gave up, and slid down the wall to sit next to Len. He drew his knees up, rested his elbows on them, and joined Len in looking gloomily toward the door.

After maybe a minute, Len took a deep, contemplative breath. Barry glanced at him sideways, and took advantage of the rare moment of stillness to really look at him. It didn’t look like he’d bothered with a razor the last couple of days, his stubble darker than usual along the contours of his cheek and sharp line of his jaw. Barry’s gaze wandered to Len’s mouth before he could help himself. He knew the shape of it well; he'd been stealing glances for years. Those pink lips had played a starring role in more than one of Barry’s fantasies, and he’d imagined kissing the man so many times he was certain that if he leaned over now and pressed his mouth to Len’s, the shape of it would be as familiar to Barry as his own.

He glanced up and started guiltily; Len was watching him with, a self-satisfied spark in those pale eyes.

“I was going to suggest another way I could think of to pass the time,” Len said, “but looks like you're a step ahead of me. For once.”

Barry was glad for the insult to distract him from the blush he was certain was rising on the back of his neck. It gave him the reminder he needed to roll his eyes, and return his gaze resolutely to the far wall. This was ridiculous. He was going stir-crazy, that was all; he had to be, if he was seriously considering…

He glanced back at Len, then quickly away when he found Len’s eyes still on him.

There were reasons this was a bad idea. Barry had a list of them, somewhere; Cisco had offered to digitalize it. Len wasn't trustworthy, for one. He always had an agenda, and there was blood on his hands that no number of these little team-ups were ever going to wash off. If Len decided their arrangement no longer benefited him, this kind of fraternization could cost Barry his job. And it would _definitely_ cost him his dignity; once Len touched him, there would be no hiding how long Barry had been dying to touch him back.

“You want to try phasing through the door again, knock yourself out,” Len said, startling Barry out of his reverie. “But I think we could find something to do that's a bit more… mutually satisfying.”

Reasons. An entire list of reasons. Barry could remember them a moment ago, when Len’s voice wasn't curling low and intimate, making Barry feel very aware of his own body.

“You have something specific in mind?”

For a moment Barry didn't even realize that the words had come from his mouth. But Len blinked, something pleasantly surprised crossing his expression, then curled his lips into a lazy smirk.

“Can’t seem to decide,” Len said. “Kinda want to get you out of that suit.” He dragged his gaze down the chest of Barry’s suit, and Barry felt it like a physical touch. “Kinda want to help you make a mess of it instead.”

Barry tried to keep himself from flushing; the smug look on Len’s face told him he'd failed.

“It sounds like you have a preference,” he said.

Len’s smirk deepened. “Always were quick on the uptake.”

Barry couldn't say for sure which of them moved first. He grabbed a fistful of Len’s jacket to drag him closer, but Len’s mouth was on his before he even needed to pull. Barry made a frankly embarrassing noise into the kiss, overwhelmed by the sheer relief of finally having Len’s lips against his. He felt as much as heard Len’s quiet huff of laughter, and Barry nipped his lip, admonishing, to cover the treacherous way his stomach fluttered at the sound.

Len brought his hand up to his jaw and tilted his head to fix the angle. Barry allowed it for a moment, then gave another impatient tug on the front of Len’s parka. Len let go of his jaw and shook out of the jacket without breaking the kiss. It hadn't been what Barry had been going for, not that he was complaining. But Len had gotten the message after all; as soon as his hands were free, he swung a leg over Barry’s thighs and caged him back against the wall with a hand on either side of his head.

Barry’s breath stuttered at the feeling of Len’s weight across his thighs. He faltered, thoughts spinning desperately for traction. Len kissed hard and slow and unrelenting; when Barry rocked forward, trying to speed it up with a hand fisted in the collar of Len’s shirt, Len’s teeth caught his lower lip in sharp reprimand. Barry made a surprised noise against his mouth, but there was no denying the heat that sparked low in his stomach when he gave in to Len’s pace.

Len rewarded him with a trace of nails down the side of his neck. Barry exhaled shakily and Len pressed his advantage, bringing his hand up to tilt his jaw and brush his tongue along the seam of his lips. Barry parted them and Len made a low noise of approval in the back of his throat as he pressed forward to claim his mouth completely.

Len took his time, exploring the roof of his mouth, the back of his teeth, dragging his tongue slick and hot against Barry’s. Barry was having a hard time getting enough air, breath coming fast and shallow even when Len backed off to give him time for a ragged inhale before kissing him again. His hands were starting to shake with want, but Len still wasn't touching him. He was sitting back on his thighs, keeping their hips carefully apart and teasing him with fleeting brushes of his tongue as he traced his nails down the side of his neck and back up.

Barry finally broke and breathed Len’s name, unable to stop himself from arching impatiently into his maddeningly light touch.

Len only hummed and trailed his lips down to bite a kiss under his jaw, his fingers brushing as low as the hollow of his throat and then away again. Then he closed his lips over the spot, and Barry gasped and twisted closer as Len pressed in with the edge of teeth and sucked a bruise there. He twitched his hips up helplessly and skittered his hand down Len’s side, then twisted his fingers into the material at his shirt’s hem and urged him closer.

Len ignored the request, and only tilted Barry’s chin back down to meet him again. He traced the curve of his bottom lip with his tongue then caught it between his teeth, his thumb pressing under Barry’s jaw until he found the tender spot he’d just made there.

Barry couldn’t bite back a moan at the spark of pleasure it sent up his spine, and Len made that quiet, encouraging noise again that made Barry’s cock twitch against the front of his pants. He tipped his head away and said, a little more desperately, “Len.”

He felt Len’s stubble scrape against the side of his neck as Len moved his attentions back to the bruise, and he tried and failed to suppress a shiver. But Len’s hands stayed resolutely above his shoulders, and when Barry tried to turn to catch his gaze, Len was watching him a dark amusement that told Barry he knew _exactly_ what he was doing to him.

“Well,” Len said, and Barry could’ve cursed at him for the perfect evenness of his tone. He didn’t even sound out of breath. “Not the worst way I’ve ever killed time, I’ll give you that.”

And then, to Barry’s utter disbelief, he made as if to get up.

Barry caught him sharply by the arm and flipped them, and Len landed hard on his back with a sharp grin. Barry kissed him roughly and got mostly teeth for his trouble, but he still savored the catch in Len’s breath as he pushed him down and straddled his hips.

Len’s hand gripped his ass hard, and Barry acquiesced, shifting his knees wider to drop his hips and grind against the front of Len’s jeans. Len groaned and Barry gasped; the friction was relief, but the feeling of how hard Len was sent a helpless shock of arousal up his spine, and he bucked his hips forward to drag against him.

Len bit Barry’s lip as he pulled him down in a rough thrust, and Barry gasped Len’s name as he found the raised ridge of denim over Len’s zipper. He rocked helplessly against it, and Len cursed and pulled him harder to grind up against him.

Len got his other hand on him and guided him into a relentless pace, both of them chasing the friction. It wasn’t nearly enough with the layers separating them, but the frustration drove them both on all the harder.

“Good?” Len asked, his voice rough, and Barry’s response was more a groan than a laugh.

“No,” he said. “Fuck, Len, I want to ride you.”

Len bit out something that might’ve been a curse and might’ve been his name. He pulled Barry hard against him, and held his hips down as he thrust his hips up.

Barry’s cock twitched, knowing Len was thinking about pushing inside him, and he clenched around nothing and groaned. Len canted his hips up again and pulled Barry roughly forward so he was rocking against his ass, right where he’d been if they really were doing this. Barry dropped his head back and rolled his hips against him, cursing.

“Bet you’d feel so good,” Len said, and Barry rocked back against him again, back bowing as he tried to drag his aching cock against Len’s stomach on the forward thrust. “So pretty like this with your legs spread.” Len said, and he slid one of his hands from Barry’s ass to settle on the top of his thigh. He pressed it back, guiding Barry’s legs wider apart, and Barry groaned as the suit pulled tighter across his groin. “Think you’d look even prettier on my cock.”

Barry clenched again and groaned, nodding senselessly. “I want it,” he said. “I want to feel you.” He rolled his hips, dragging slowly over the hard line of Len’s cock. “Fuck, Len. I want to feel you come.”

Len’s grip tightened, hard enough to bruise, and he ground up against Barry with short, sharp thrusts that made Barry’s vision start to white out. He could feel his muscles coiling tight as he gasped and ground into it, begging senselessly.

“You’d let me come inside you, Barry?” Len asked. “Let me make you mine?”

Barry grabbed blindly for his shoulder, breaths edging helplessly into moans as he thrust faster against him, chasing the friction.

Len pulled him in tighter and said, “That’s it, Barry.” His voice broke on his name, and Barry made a tight sound in the back of his throat. “Just like that, come on—”

It was too much, and Barry’s orgasm crashed over him in a cresting wave of pleasure. He was distantly aware that he was vibrating, control over his powers splintered to nothing, but Len only pulled him closer and gasped his name as Barry muffled his shout against his shoulder.

After what might've been a minute and might've been several, Barry came back to himself enough to realize he was still leaning heavily over Len. The muscles of his thighs protested as he slid gracelessly off to one side, and he slid down against the wall with a huff. He was breathing hard, and trying to bring himself to care about the mess he’d just made of the suit. It wasn’t like he had other clothes. Len was in the same boat, at least, though Barry wasn’t sure that was actually a good thing, given their situation.

He tried to find the energy to say as much, then gave up. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall instead, taking distant note of the shaky exhaustion in his legs.

“Might've mentioned the vibrating earlier,” Len said. His voice sounded scraped raw, and Barry couldn't help the smirk that pulled up at the corner of his mouth.

“Slipped my mind.”

“Mhm.”

Beside him, Len shifted, then made a quiet noise of distaste.

“Yeah,” Barry said, without opening his eyes. “I'm not sure this was your best idea.”

Len made a grudging noise of agreement. “Inspired, though,” he said, and moved to stand.

Before he could think better of it, Barry caught him by the arm and pulled him back down for another kiss. He felt Len hesitate this time, and knew he’d just pushed this into something else, something more than a bored fumble in a dark corner. But then he felt Len card his fingers through his hair, and he tipped his head to deepen the kiss.

Len pulled back after a moment, and Barry let him. There was something wary in his eyes, and Barry threw caution to the wind. He brushed his thumb over Len’s cheek, enjoying the quiet rasp of his stubble.

“I like this,” he said. He repeated the lingering touch, and something in his chest flipped when Len tipped his face quietly into his hand. “You should keep it.”

Len looked wrong-footed for a second, and the expression was so unexpected on him that Barry grinned. Len slipped his hand forward enough to trace his thumb under the line of his jaw, then pressed on the bruise in a way that made Barry’s lips part and his lashes flutter.

“We’ll see,” Len said. But Barry felt the brief, possessive curl of his fingers over the back of his neck, and he tipped Len a knowing smirk.

The stickiness of his suit was getting a bit too much to bear, and Barry stripped out of it at superspeed. There were hardly extra clothes in the panic room, but he swiped a few tissues from a haphazard pile, figuring no one would notice the missing box. He balled his underwear and the tissues, pulled the suit back on, then flickered over to where Len’s parka had been tossed to the side.

Len pulled it from his hands before he could pick it up, expression disbelieving.

“Can I help you?” he demanded.

“I don’t have pockets,” Barry said, and he tugged the jacket easily back from Len’s grip. Len looked ridiculously affronted as he tucked the underwear and tissue into an inside pocket, and Barry rolled his eyes. “I’ll get it dry-cleaned. You planning on changing?”

Len held out his hand for the box of tissues with a rather sulky glare. “Didn’t have anything on under these,” he said. “Coming in my pants like a teenager wasn’t exactly on the itinerary for today.”

“Your idea,” Barry reminded him, but he passed the package over to him anyway.

After Len was done, and the tissues shoved into another coat pocket with a great deal of wounded dignity, Len rolled his shoulders back and sighed. He rotated his wrists a few times, then stretched his arms out in front of him until his shoulders popped. Then he leaned forward and pulled something out of his boots. He hauled himself to his feet, and Barry watched, confused, as Len crossed the small space to the door and ran his fingers over the edge of the frame. Then the slim tool in his hand—a pick, it was a pick, Barry was going to _murder him—_ glinted as he slipped it home.

The lock clicked less than a second later, and the sound was still ringing off the walls when Barry flashed across the room to shove Len back against the door.

“You had that thing the entire time?” he demanded.

Len’s smirk had teeth this time. “Slipped my mind,” he said. “Curious, don’t you think, that neither of our teams were very worried when we went radio silent.”

“Probably because they thought we were actually _trying_ to get back to them.”

Len’s cool gaze didn’t fool Barry; he could see the satisfaction lingering under the surface. “Maybe you should’ve asked nicely,” Len said. “I do like hearing you beg.”

Barry shoved away from the wall, reminding himself forcefully to be annoyed instead of giving in to the shiver of interest that the low curl of Len’s voice sparked in him. He didn’t even get a step away when Len caught his arm, and Barry went easily when Len pulled him back around and kissed him again.

There was no hint of his earlier hesitation; this was confident, warm and amused, and Barry didn’t last a second before giving in and kissing him back. One push and Len’s back hit the wall, and Barry pressed forward to catch his face between his hands and licked into his mouth.

A rather aggressive burst of static crackled from the direction of his cowl; actually, it sounded suspiciously like a chip bag being crumpled in front of a microphone.

“Yeah, guys. Those coms _are_ back online,” Cisco said, his voice tinny over the speaker.

Barry laughed against Len’s lips, breaking the kiss. He leaned back to put a few inches of space between them, then said, “Cisco?”

“Yeah?”

Len raised an eyebrow at him, and Barry met it with a slow, anticipatory grin.

“You can go ahead and turn those back off,” he said, and he didn’t bother waiting for the line to cut out before swaying forward to capture Len’s mouth again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments are guaranteed to make my day.


End file.
